


Something Lost

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: There’s only a handful of things Reaper has that Gabriel Reyes once owned.One is a shitty mug that says "World's Okayest Dad." Reaper doesn't know why he keeps it around. Gabriel Reyes does.





	

There’s only a handful of things Reaper has that Gabriel Reyes once owned.

 

The shotguns are won, his signature weapon. They’re not exact replicas of the ones he had during his days in Blackwatch, the originals were lost in the explosion, but they have the same style on the handle. There’s a photo of his family, long dead, he keeps in a drawer by his bedside, another photo of him Jack and Ana hidden behind the same frame. His beanie, while scorched is still in his possession. He keeps it under the shitty mattress Talon gave him. For some reason, he can’t bare to throw it out. 

 

_ It was a gift _ , a part of his memory tells him, a part that despairs at what he’s become. Reaper finds that part of his mind to be particularly annoying. And terribly sentimental. 

 

It’s not much to keep from a better life. Reaper prefers it that way: his time as Gabriel Reyes slips through his fingers most days like smoke, only memories of resentment ever truly staying. The bits of his former life he actually enjoyed are almost impossible to hold onto. At this point, to call Reaper Gabriel Reyes is a misconception. Gabriel Reyes, his heroism, his care for his men, everything that made him trusted, died in the explosion. Reaper is just a phantom lingering in his empty shell.

 

That’s what Reaper likes to think, anyway. It’s complicated this undead business; easier to separate himself then and now as two different people. But sometimes, when it’s late at night, he sees through his own lies, the ones crafted to hide a memory of who he used to be. Like now.

 

He stares down at the mug in his hand, half full of shitty coffee. He doesn’t remember picking it up from one of the bases, only discovering it in his bag a week later wrapped in one of his old cloaks. It’s a bright red thing, terribly gaudy. An eyesore. On the front is white text, faded from too many harsh washes.

 

“World’s Okayest Dad.”

 

A part of him remembers getting this. A mug left on his desk, unsigned, filled to the brim with cheap candy. Taffy and caramels, and a few gumballs. Stuff he liked but never bothered to buy for himself. He had to look at the camera records to find who left it. Despite the gifters attempts to hide from the camera, Athena has easily spotted the brim of the cowboy hat in the right corner of the screen.

 

That same part of Reaper remembers slinging his arm over that same boy’s shoulder, and thanking him a week later. Getting him a mug with a tacky sheriff's star on it for a date the boy claimed was his birthday. Filling it to the brim with his favorite cigars when the same boy, now a man, landed in the hospital down an arm.

 

Reaper takes a sip of his drink. The memory fades and he scowls at the mug. Why does he bother to keep this thing? Widowmaker has teased him enough about it.

 

_ It was a gift, _ that small part of his brain, buried under Talon influence and pain screams. _ It was a gift, it was a gift, it was a gift from a man you tried to shoot two days ago, how can you not remember?  _

  
Reaper chugs the rest of his coffee. It tastes of caramel. 


End file.
